A Mercenary's Heart
by Skitty-Kat
Summary: Nightwing has a late night visitor in the shape of Deathstroke the Terminator. Slash, so don't let the kiddies read.


A Mercenary's Heart  
  
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Disclaimers: Nightwing and Deathstroke and related characters all belong to DC comics. They're the ones making money from them, not me.  
  
Author's Notes: Warning, this contains slash. As in men having sex with other men. If this icks you out, then don't read. And don't come crying to me if you don't heed the warning.  
  
In my travels around the internet, I have not found any Nightwing/Terminator slash. So, thinks I, a gap in the market. This is the result. And the first line comes from Nightwing #79. It was too good an opportunity to miss. And I just had to mention Joey's sideburns. Whatever happened to them? They just vanished.  
  
Oh, and I ought to mention that I'm not too good at writing American, if you get my drift. All my characters sound too dratted British.  
  
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"I wasn't expecting you home for at least another three hours, Nightwing."  
  
Then the lights went out. A little still shone in through the windows form the streetlights outside, but not enough for Dick Grayson's eyes to adjust. Before he could move, Deathstroke was on him, fist crashing into his jaw and foot slamming into his stomach.  
  
"Unh!" He gasped before twisting his attacker off and vaulting over the back of a chair that he knew was there. Crouching there for a moment, he listened for Deathstroke's position in the room. Cursing the fact that he, temporarily, couldn't see, he inched his way along the wall. Deathstroke probably had night vision lenses, well, one night vision lens in his mask, or maybe his metahuman powers helped him there. He had the advantage in senses, but Dick had the advantage of terrain. This was his flat, and he knew -roughly- where everything was. He paused for a second to work out his next move.  
  
All thought was soon disrupted by a second attack, this one sending him sprawling across the room. His head connected with a chest-of-drawers, knocking off several items. One, which hit his hand as it fell, was the lamp that usually sat on top of the bureau. As Deathstroke's fingers sought out his throat, Dick's hunted for the switch. Finding it, he flicked it on, causing the mercenary to flinch in surprise. Dick pushed this advantage, forcing the larger man off of him.  
  
But his room to manoeuvre was strictly limited. His only option was to wrestle Deathstroke back, not an easy move considering the superior size, highly trained moves and metahuman capabilities of his opponent. Though momentarily surprised by the sudden light, the man known as the Terminator instantly fought back. He had Dick pinned to the ground when something caught his eye in the pool of light by the fallen lamp. A photograph of a smiling, blond-haired man with expressive eyes and meaty sideburns. Deathstroke stood up abruptly, dropping his hold on his intended victim. He sat on the sofa where he had been previously with a sigh.  
  
"I can't," he said sadly, "not today. He wouldn't have wanted me to."  
  
Dick moved from the floor, wincing slightly, and picked up the framed picture. He looked at Deathstroke with narrowed eyes.  
  
"What, kill me?" he said dryly. "And you won't because Joey would have hated you for it."  
  
The mercenary nodded, face concealed beneath his emotionless mask.  
  
"Also," Dick continued, walking over, using this unexpected advantage, "today's the day that he died. Which makes upsetting his memory even worse, right Slade?"  
  
There was another nod, then Slade Wilson removed his mask. His white hair shone slightly in the faint light. It shone even more when Dick switched on the main lights again. Slade twitched, looking unsure of himself.  
  
"Could we, well, talk about him?" he asked, voice surprisingly quiet. "It's just that anyone else I might have talked to is dead. Addie, Grant, and others. And Logan, don't even suggest Logan. You're the only person who knew him who would actually talk to me. And I'm here anyway."  
  
Dick was speechless for the moment, unsure of what he should say. Finally, he sat next to Slade on the couch, leaving a little distance between them. He still held the picture.  
  
"Okay," he said, "as long as it's not some kind of trick."  
  
"No. If I'd wanted to kill you I'd have done it by now. I respect you enough to not faff around."  
  
"Sure you'd've killed me?"  
  
Slade shrugged. "Whatever." He paused. "I just wish I'd known Joey better when he was older. I spent a lot of time with him when he was little, y'know."  
  
"He said."  
  
"Grant was always the one to follow in my footsteps, all guns and soldiers and fighting. It was that, I suppose, that led him eventually to destruction. Wanting to follow me, both as his father and in the guise of Deathstroke. It hurt when he died, for obvious reasons, but at least I had someone to blame. The damn H. I. V. E. You Titans. That helped some."  
  
"Didn't particularly help us," Dick remarked with a half smile.  
  
"Yeah, well. I took a contract on you guys -damn foolishly it seemed at times- and that's the way I operate. I got the bunch of you in the end though, with help, except for you. But when you turned up in that spanky new uniform with my boy, I didn't know what to think. It gave me quite a shock to see him. I hadn't seen him for years, since Addie took him with her. And he fought me!"  
  
Slade shook his head, still disbelieving. "My little curly-haired boy, who always wanted to please me by playing or singing, was attacking me effectively and properly. I recognised the moves he used; I'd seen my Addie use them many a time. But this was my Joey!  
  
"He was always so gentle. And he had the most beautiful voice. I still feel guilty thinking about how it was my fault that he lost it. My pig- headedness that caused that knife to slit his throat. He could never speak again, and all because of me." His blue eyes were wet with tears.  
  
"I don't think he ever blamed you for it," Dick said, "not when I knew him. He was too forgiving." He put his hand on Wilson's shoulder tentatively.  
  
"You think so, kid?"  
  
"Yeah. But I don't think your wife ever forgave you."  
  
"No. I guess I deserved that though." Slade sighed. "You're right though. Joey was forgiving. He was amazing."  
  
"He certainly helped me, particularly when Kory married that other gut on Tamaran. I didn't really take that well. It would have been worse without Joey though. He stopped me from doing anything completely stupid."  
  
"He wanted you, y'know."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Joey. He wanted you. You could see it in the way he looked at you."  
  
"Get away. I'd have noticed."  
  
"Really? I don't think so." Slade grinned suddenly. "The great bat- detective can't even tell when someone's making eyes at him!"  
  
Dick blushed. "And what eyes," he muttered. "But seriously," he continued in a louder voice, "he wasn't."  
  
"He was. Don't deny it, kid. He wanted you, and I can see why."  
  
The dark-haired Titan raised an eyebrow, shifting on the sofa. "Uh huh?" he asked slowly.  
  
"You want me to list your good points? Not too modest then. But let's see. You're young, fit, good-looking, wealthy, want me to continue?"  
  
"It's okay, you made your point, Slade," Dick said, suddenly feeling uncomfortable.  
  
"Oh, I've got more of a point to make than that, kid." The mercenary stroked his beard and gazed at Dick directly. "I said I could see why Joey wanted you, and sometimes I get that feeling too. I'm not shy. I want you too, Dick Grayson."  
  
Dick blinked. That last statement had gone straight through him to his groin, barely pausing at his brain. "You what?"  
  
"You heard me, boy wonder. I want you. You're one of the hottest guys I've ever met, even when you were a kid. And all that leg-showing, you're just asking for it. I'm not that unattractive, am I?"  
  
"No," Dick murmured, "but-."  
  
"you just don't want to admit it, right?" Slade smiled. "You're too much of a control freak sometimes, kid."  
  
The two men stared at each other. Dick's hands were picking at the fabric of the sofa nervously. Slade's hand reached over and fingered Dick's jaw, smoothing the skin gently. They drew closer until their faces almost touched.  
  
"I-," Dick started, but a finger on his lips stopped him.  
  
"Shh," Slade whispered, then pressed his mouth to Dick's in a long kiss.  
  
The warmth of the lips and tongue pushed away any other thoughts from Dick's mind. All he knew was the immediate sensation of the now, of Slade's body against his. A pair of large hands rested on his hips, pulling him over until he was halfway on Slade's lap. He wound his arms around the strong neck, one hand brushing the white hair. Wriggling, he pressed his body closer, striving for as much contact as possible.  
  
"Bit more keen now?" Wilson asked in a low voice, sliding his hands down. He swung Dick round, lying him back along the sofa.  
  
"The bed is more comfortable," Dick muttered as Slade straddled his legs and began fiddling with the zip on his jeans.  
  
"We can find our way to the bedroom later," the mercenary answered, yanking the blue T-shirt over the dark head. Finding the nipples already peaked, he teased them with his fingers, circling them slowly. Dick moaned, then pulled him down for another kiss, wrapping his legs around Slade's. The larger man began thrusting against Dick, rubbing their still-clothed cocks together.  
  
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It was some hours later when they were lying tangled together on Dick's bed. Half-asleep and drowsy, the young vigilante pushed his face into Slade's shoulder, one hand trailing lazily through the curling chest hair. He raised his head as Slade stiffened slightly, looking at him questioningly.  
  
"You won't tell anyone, will you?" the mercenary asked, seeming almost ashamed of himself for doing so.  
  
Dick laughed softly. "It's between you, me and the bedpost," he promised.  
  
"Yeah, but knowing you Bat-types, the bedpost's probably bugged."  
  
"Well, not by me it isn't."  
  
They lay again in silence for a while, the soft rise and fall of Slade's breathing lulling Dick almost off to sleep, until he remembered something and looked up again.  
  
"Who paid you to kill me, Slade?"  
  
This time it was Slade's turn to laugh. "You make a good Mata Hari, kid. Sleep with 'em and then ask the questions."  
  
"Ve haff vays off makink you talk. Heh. I want to know who's got it in for me."  
  
"Okay, you'll probably work it out yourself soon enough. It was your dear old pal Blockbuster."  
  
"That's hardly surprising. I get the impression he doesn't like me. Can't think why. How much for?"  
  
Wilson named a figure. It was high, but not high enough to faze Dick Grayson. He snorted.  
  
"Is that all?" he asked. "Hardly worth it, is it?"  
  
"Guess not. I'll go and tell him to stuff it tomorrow. Now though, I can't be bothered to move."  
  
"We should do this again sometime."  
  
"Are you crazy or just deranged?" Slade asked, threaded his fingers into the dark, unruly hair. "You know how dangerous I can be, kid."  
  
"I like danger. So sue me." Dick grinned suddenly. "After all, I went out with Kory for years. Tell me that wasn't dangerous."  
  
"Alright, I'll give you that. Maybe we should do this again. It was fun."  
  
Dick smiled and curled up closer, his breath warming Slade's throat. As stars began to disappear outside in the sky, both men, one paid to take lives and the other sworn to protect them, drifted to sleep, warm in each other's arms.  
  
The End.  
  
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Aw, wasn't that a cute, fluffy ending? By the way, this hasn't been beta'd by anyone, so any canon errors are entirely my fault. It's as accurate as I can make it. Let me know what you think! (The little blue button's just down there if you're feeling nice.) 


End file.
